


at last, spring

by eustomas



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, general eye fuckery of the nidhogg variety, lapslock, look man idk, now comes with A R T!!, tenderness™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustomas/pseuds/eustomas
Summary: days, weeks, months, and suddenly eternity is in your hands(you need only take it)
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43
Collections: Estimeric Week 2020





	1. firsts

**Author's Note:**

> estimeric week is happening babeyyy, LETS GET THIS FUCKING BREAD

  1. _firsts_



it is a revelation that comes easily — one that seeps like syrup in his veins, sweet and gentle, leaves a faint aftertaste of sugar on his tongue. it makes him smile, privately, secretly, this knowledge just for him.

(just for now, just for as long as it takes to keep it secret)

it settles soft and quiet, like the snow that envelops coerthas — constant, a fundamental truth, a part of him now.

it comes early, takes barely a week of stolen glances and tentative camaraderie, culminates in one dead dragon between them and a bloody walk back to ishgard, just the two of them and the biting winds that follow as witness.

it comes to him then, the quiet realization — _ah, this one?_

aymeric looks at unkempt silver hair, wild, messy; looks at cold blue eyes glaring furiously at his opponent, expression focused, guarded; looks at bruised knuckles and bloodied fingernails, at the imposing figure estinien cuts, something sharp and deadly, something _hungry._

"again!" ser alberic calls harshly from above.

estinien _leaps_.

a voice inside aymeric whispers calm, pleased, full of certainty,

_yes, this one._

* * *

it comes to him among ruins, loud and thunderous, impossible to ignore. 

the tattered remains of whatever calls itself his heart nowadays, they tear themselves apart and stitch back anew, the bloody mess indisputable, impossible to look away from. it leaves him raw, breathless, staggering; trying desperately to find his footing in the aftermath.

 _you would dare?,_ his mind screams furiously at him, outraged at his own transgression, at this newfound _want._ except the more his thoughts run wild, the more his mind clears with every second that passes, estinien realizes with dawning horror, _oh,_ _but this is not new, is it?_

something like bile rises up his throat, shame following after, because of course, of course it would be this. 

his one, his closest friend, the one who has done for him more than he deserves without question, without receiving anything in return but grief; beautiful, gentle aymeric who forgives him so easily and gives so much, and estinien would still want more _,_ would dare ask of him—

_(dare ask what?_

_to accept estinien's heart on a silver platter?_

_to offer his own in return?)_

he tries to stop the thought before it can take root, to strangle it lest it give him ideas, dreams, _hope_.

unfortunately, he finds now, it is already far too late for even that.

_aymeric and him, countless stars bright in the sky, the lone moon the only source of light in the dark, and estinien remembers looking at aymeric as he speaks quietly, skin moonlit and all the light in the world shining in his eyes, so much brighter than the moon, the stars — this one man who is everything good in ishgard, the one estinien would follow gladly, would swear his life to._

_the feeling roils in his chest, something large and overflowing, a tidal wave that threatens to swallow him whole._

_he looks at it and decides to call it admiration; dedication to a worthy cause, a worthy leader._

it cannot be anything else, he had reasoned then, like a fool. 

he looks at it again now, takes apart every moment, every memory, all the times with aymeric he has shared — and finds them all seeped in it, all various degrees of stained. it makes him think of ice, vicious and unyielding; ice that spreads in every crack, every crevice possible, inescapable, inevitable, relentless like the endless winter come to coerthas, and he finds it's all—

_love_

  
  


distantly, he hears something far away shatter, and decides it best to ignore it.


	2. secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, super minor warnings for a lil bit of blood and slight injury
> 
> anyway, remember that one girl who clenched her jaw so hard bc of how hot michael b. jordan was in black panther that she broke her braces?
> 
> estinien.

_3._ _secrets_

things change, after estinien is appointed azure dragoon. 

small things, big things; the armor he wears and the power he suddenly commands, people looking to him for orders, for guidance, for leadership.

there are inconsequential things — like the newly assigned quarters he barely frequents and the people on the streets that gawk after him, _look, the azure dragoon! —_ and then there are the dark, heavy things, the ones that steal away whatever little sleep was left to him; the burden he must now bear and the change it brings.

the eye.

it seethes. constantly.

it seethes and rages and brims so full of aether, power barely restrained, wild, an endless storm of fury trapped within — and now it falls to him to wield it, to hone it into a weapon against their enemies, against _nidhogg_.

and that, for all of its vicious irony, proves to be a nearly insurmountable challenge.

it starts small — quiet whispers and flashes in almost dreams, fleeting, easy enough to dismiss. but it grows with each day, a darkness at the corner of his eyes that refuses to leave, memories not his own that he cannot shake; something foreign stirring at his breast, something so distinctly _other_ — a presence within him, one that’s always, always watching.

the loss of sleep he can deal with, the permanent layer of tiredness quickly growing familiar, a second skin. the nightmares, too — those he can learn to forget, to pretend he has never seen. blood spilled and bodies broken and it is him that does it, him that kills countless, leaves nothing but destruction in his path, his body not his own.

all until he wakes, remembers, _this is naught but a trial to overcome._

and he will. the eye chose him; he cannot fail, not when so much is at stake.

estinien remembers the stories alberic has told him about being azure dragoon, about wielding the eye and the effects it has and the dangers it possesses, remembers reading about the deeds of previous azure dragoons, their accounts of it.

he does not remember any mention of the things happening to him now.

but he cannot tell another soul, not anyone, cannot afford to risk the holy see to take the eye away from him, to rob him of his vengeance. no, he will fight this and he will conquer it, will make the eye submit to him no matter how many sleepless nights it takes.

estinien promises himself this and, so, so very predictably, makes the one exception.

* * *

the de borel manor is quiet, all the windows dark. it comes as no surprise considering the late hour, but still estinien threads as carefully as he can, tries to stay silent, to not disturb a soul.

his hands shake and it is testament to his self-control that he doesn't just break in through the first available window.

he makes his way to what he knows is aymeric’s study, sees the faint light glowing from inside and feels something like relief unfold in his chest. but it is too early for that, he cannot let his guard down yet, cannot think about—

another wave of vertigo hits him and estinien stumbles, almost falls to his knees, dazed; clutches at his head and feels sharp nail scratch roughly against his skin.

 _fury damn it all—_

he does not know what to do. 

that doesn't even matter, there is only one thing he _can_ do — go to aymeric. 

even in his current state it is so easy to make the jump, to grab on the ridiculously sophisticated railing and pull himself up on the sill, so familiar, so many times that he’s done this, his body knowing what to do without his say. 

aymeric doesn't even look startled by the noise.

he rises from his desk calmly, rubs absentmindedly at his eye as if to dispel encroaching sleep — it is such a reassuring sight that estinien almost feels his grip slip in its wake. it is as reassuring as it is distressing, for it is all it takes to make estinien reconsider, regret coming here at all; the desperate need to keep everything a secret making panic spread like fire with dry kindle.

but it is far too late already, the window barely half-open before estinien is throwing himself inside, taking aymeric to the floor with him.

they fall in a pile on the floor with a rough _thump,_ aymeric coughing out a wheeze, the breath knocked out of him. estinien lays half on top of him, head bowed, resting on aymeric’s chest, a curtain of silver hair obscuring his face. he clutches at aymeric’s shirt, feels the fabric rip in his hands just slightly and he swears, rushes the words out— 

“say not a word of this to anyone,” his voice comes out half-wild, desperate, “not a soul, aymeric, _swear it._ ”

“i swear it,” aymeric answers instantly, not even a moment of hesitation. estinien takes another shaking breath, feels some terrible weight lift. 

here, he is safe. he can trust aymeric.

this was a wise decision. 

the previous panic subsides slightly, just enough for him to gather his courage and lift his head, look aymeric in the eye.

his surprised gasp is answer enough to make estinien turn away again, lower his head and grip the fabric in his hands tighter, body tense. maybe it was a mistake to come here after all, maybe he should’ve just hid until it went away, maybe—

“estinien?” aymeric’s voice is whisper quiet, a soft, barely there thing that's already full of worry. estinien wants to curse again for causing his friend such distress, making him deal with this among everything else. aymeric is not the one who should bear the weight of this burden; coming here was foolish and—

estinien feels a gentle hand lay on his shoulder, the lightest of touches, and finally, finally he exhales, some of the tension leaving his body. 

they stay like this for a long time.

“will you allow me to look upon you again?” aymeric asks, so careful, so gentle, and estinien could _weep—_

he meets his eyes instead.

“oh, _estinien_...” he flinches at the way aymeric speaks his name. “my friend, what has befallen you?”

there is silence. then, too many words clamoring to come out at once,

“the eye, it—there've always been nightmares and whispers, but this time i, it _changed—_ ” he sits up suddenly, knees on the ground, and stares at his hands: at the unnaturally long nails that resemble claws just a little too closely, at the veins running across pale skin, clearly visible even now in the dim light, red and bright and _angry._

he knows the sight he makes, what he woke up as after another terror, one far worse than those before, one that left him disoriented, nauseous, his throat hoarse, chest filled with dread.

aymeric looks, his gaze sharp — sees the slitted pupils, the red eyes, the glowing, pulsing marks around them, mockeries of veins, of blood. he looks at the too sharp canines biting harshly at his lips to stop the rest of the words from coming out, from revealing too much. aymeric needs not hear the details of the torment he has fought to subdue since the eye was first bestowed upon him.

estinien tastes iron on his tongue.

"come," aymeric rises to his feet, hand stretched out, an invitation, "the floor is hardly a place for such a conversation."

estinien follows. 

aymeric leads him through darkened corridors, once so familiar but now entirely unrecognizable to estinien, shades lurking in every corner, every part of him on edge.

"tis the only room with a fire lit, i'm afraid," aymeric has the gall to _apologize_ of all things. 

estinien feels full of things he cannot name, ready to fall apart at the seams with every moment that passes. something inside him trembles, some influence of the eye, he can feel it.

he walks in.

aymeric's quarters look ever the same, estinien notes distantly, only barely paying attention to their surroundings. it is a small comfort nonetheless, a sense of familiarity to keep him grounded.

aymeric sits him down gently on the bed, moves to stand at the vee of his legs, hands held out tentatively, patiently waiting permission. estinien manages a barely perceptible nod, almost as if paralyzed — whether it is by whatever is happening to him or what he is doing here, he cannot tell.

aymeric is careful, meticulous in his ministrations. he traces estinien's brow first, the marks around his eyes, estinien's face cupped delicately in his hands. his gaze is intent, focused; undivided attention fully upon estinien and he finds it too much, turns his eyes to the nearby wall instead—

"look at me." 

and because he is pathetically, damnably weak, he does. 

estinien drowns in blue.

“the eye has brought about this change?” aymeric’s hands trail lower — a thumb ghosts against the corner of estinien’s mouth and then his lower lip, light, gentle, the smallest smear of blood following in its wake. 

aymeric looks transfixed. 

he tugs on it slightly, a barely there pressure, just enough to reveal the too sharp canine teeth in estinien’s mouth. it seems to make him bolder, or maybe stupider, because then he goes a step further, presses harder, and estinien can almost feel the skin give against the sharpness. estinien’s heart beats an uneven staccato that rings in his ears, deafening. 

there are many reasons for the way fear grows sudden in his chest and only half of them have anything to do with the eye.

estinien feels something hot lick up his spine, some impulse he barely has the strength to resist; heat and dread and desire warped together. he feels aymeric move an ilm closer, almost as if dazed, his gaze never straying from estinien’s mouth, _intent_ , and this is not a leap estinien can trust himself to make in one piece.

“don't—” his hand is clutching at aymeric’s wrist in a flash; to pull him away, to stop this madness before he—

before—

“ah,” aymeric’s voice is startled, “pray forgive me.”

he offers estinien a small smile, fragile at the edges with something estinien cannot read. he looks at where his fingers wrap around aymeric’s arm instead.

he’s still wearing those new gloves he had commissioned, estinien notices only now. he’d worn them earlier today with the new lord commander regalia, stood proud in front of the knights, a shining beacon to look towards.

estinien had stared in passing then, at slender hands and delicate fingers, digits clever, graceful in their movement, almost teasing in how they were exposed. 

the fabric is surprisingly sturdy in his hold, strong, his nails— 

(sharp, sharp as claws, those are _claws_ ) 

they scratch roughly against it, sinking in just the barest amount, and estinien has to look away. he lowers his head, can't stand to have aymeric look at him in such a state, words beyond him like so many times before.

he only feels it, how aymeric’s other hand closes around his own, how it slowly trails down from there, down, down, follows the reddened veins until they disappear farther up estinien’s sleeve.

“whatever it is that has happened to you, we shall reverse it, i promise you.” 

as reassuring as it sounds, a bitter laugh is all the response he can manage. 

it is then that the eye glares, unsatisfied, a wave of grief and rancor washing over him along with images, flashes of impossible things, more death and ruin and oblivion to haunt him. 

he grits his teeth; tries not to scream against the onslaught. 

“it’s less than two bells until sunrise; you should rest now.” aymeric’s voice is a quiet murmur, an anchor to keep him grounded amids this nightmare. “i shall leave—”

“no!” the word is out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, his hand fisted in aymeric’s shirt and a vice grip on his wrist, pulling him closer. 

“do not...” he cannot bear to be alone, not with this, not anymore. instead, he holds aymeric in place, prays for forgiveness in some distant corner of his mind and clutches onto his friend for dear life.

estinien feels the fabric give, warmth spilling slow, trickling on his fingertips. 

blood.

his next inhale is a sharp, painful thing, wretched,

“ _fuck_ , aymeric, i—” he lets go in an instant as if burned, thoughts racing, horror at his actions wild in his veins. 

the eye revels in it.

this is it, he realizes, this is how he will end: one final transgression too many, left to suffer and fail like no other azure dragoon before him. he would laugh if he had the breath for it, if his could get his lungs to work.

estinien dares not look at aymeric’s face, cannot tear his gaze from the uneven gashes on his hand, unmistakable for what they are; ugly, jagged marrings of soft flesh, _deep_.

"think nothing of it," the way aymeric is so calm, so understanding, so forgiving makes him want to yell in frustration, to lash out, words sharp on the tip of his tongue, poisonous.

doesn't he see, doesn't he realize? what it is that estinien is, what follows after him? the incorrigible, damned _weakness_ he harbors, cannot rid himself of even now, ever a thrall for a warm gaze and a soft touch, one word thrown his way all it takes to bring him to his knees, does aymeric not _know_?

it's infuriating; pathetic—

aymeric takes off the gloves. estinien looks upon his work and despairs. 

the lacerations are deep; deeper than he first imagined, and dread grows cold at the pit of his stomach. 

_these will scar_.

the thought pierces him at once, merciless; tears through the softest parts of his being, leaves him to crumble into nothingness.

instead, three things happen.

one: aymeric lifts estinien’s chin slowly, deliberately, makes sure there is nothing else to look at but him. 

two: estinien looks and looks and looks, and sees nothing of malice, nothing of disgust, of contempt or of revulsion; only _acceptance,_ obvious and unconditional, clear as day in aymeric’s eyes.

and finally, three: a hand presses against his shoulder, gentle, guiding, merely a suggestion on which direction to go, and without even thinking estinien follows, always follows.

his back lays on soft sheets, warm and welcoming under him, a tempting promise of comfort, of rest.

“apologies for the poor choice of words, my friend,” aymeric says, his form leaning above him. he is lit amber and gold from the fire, an almost ethereal glow around him. the sight is panacea and perdition both.

“sleep now, for there will be much to be done in the morning,” he rises, and estinien almost wants to protest again. “i shall join you anon, worry not.” 

and he does; crawls next to estinien under the heavy covers and reaches for his hand even if it makes estinien flinch. it takes a while for him to relax, to gingerly trace the bandages on aymeric’s arm, too hesitant to get too close.

he can almost pretend they are naive temple knights again — just boys sharing a tent together, hiding from the biting cold. sleep finds him easy that way.

it is the best he’s gotten in weeks.

  
  
  


(in the night, moments before dawn, there will be a foul, curling smoke of red aether dissipating in the air without a trace, not a soul awake to witness it.

in the morning, the eye will be quiet; subdued.

in the morning, estinien will wake up and find no claws and no fangs, nothing to brand him a monster. it is only five thin, scabbed over marks on aymeric’s left hand that will testify to what has happened, prove it wasn't all some nightmare.

in a month, it will be five thin, white scars against his skin, marks that fit estinien’s hand exactly when he traces them, again and again and again.

it remains a secret only for the two of them.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thats the story of how aymeric broke the curse™ with a true love's kiss on estinien's forehead while he was asleep, the end
> 
> ANYWAY, DAY THREE, GIVE IT UP FOR DAY THREE
> 
> HEY. HEY, YALL, HAVE YOU SEEN THE WONDERFUL [ART](https://twitter.com/insalte/status/1293256922963927040?s=21) ARIS DID THAT SPARKED THIS WHOLE THING!!! HAVE YOU!!! 
> 
> now u have


	3. food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT, i almost forgot to post bc of work bUT ANYWAY, this one is silly; have a bad shitpost in fic format

_5._ _ food _

it begins, like most habits are wont to do, with something small. in hindsight it will look so terribly, awfully obvious, but for now it’s nothing, a barely noticeable change, an inconsequential game of cat and mouse.

estinien — young, foolish, far too brash for his own good, grabs the apple out of aymeric’s hands as if it’s meant for him and walks away, nary a word. aymeric’s token protest barely reaches his ears. he continues on to his meeting with alberic, oblivious to aymeric’s sigh, his fond smile, and the promise of payback in his eyes.

it is the pebble that starts the landslide.

* * *

“i could've sworn i brought  _ two _ loaves—”

“did you?” aymeric voice comes from somewhere behind him, the tell-tale crunch of bread obvious. estinien turns immediately to look at him. his eye twitches.

he says nothing as a smile grows on aymeric’s face, boyish and full of mirth.

estinien swears to himself to rid ishgard of all apples just to be contrary.

(it has nothing to do with how it feels to have aymeric look at him in such a way, to be the focus of his undivided attention, to bear witness to aymeric de borel being  _ playful—  _

he tells himself this, and believes it.)

* * *

but even bad habits are susceptible to change and somewhere along the years, somewhere in-between shared times and shared words, somewhere among too many nights spent together and trust built and a bond forged, somewhere there they lose track of the score, of who has stolen what of whom, and it becomes something else.

the manor is quiet and aymeric doesn't even bat an eye when estinien grabs a morsel off the plate he’s arranging for himself and sits on the kitchen table to watch as aymeric works, long legs crossed.

“sometimes i wonder why you even employ servants when you insist on doing this yourself.”

“the servants would take issue with your manners, i'm afraid, so i must.”

estinien scoffs, “my manners are just fine.”

aymeric gives no response, merely throws a look in estinien’s direction that says everything he needs. it makes estinien look away sharply, a rosy flush rising to his cheeks. no wonder he’s taken to wearing the azure dragoon armor almost religiously — his friend remains ever so easy to read, his face betraying everything so clearly. it makes aymeric smile.

through the course of the evening, estinien steals half of what is on aymeric’s plate and he lets him, lets the constantly growing affection in his chest unfurl. 

it is good, what they have. aymeric hopes to keep it.

* * *

“hey, did you see—” the warrior of light begins quietly. she scrunches her eyebrows, reconsiders again if she should mention it at all. ishgardians aren't all that prone to showing or talking about intimacy after all, maybe it’d be inappropriate to ask— 

“do they always do that?” she settles on instead, motioning with her head towards the pair at the other side of the table.

“oh, so you've noticed?” haurchefant’s voice is light, full of what one might call giddiness, “yes. the answer is yes.”

she watches as estinien and aymeric talk quietly among each other, how estinien snatches a grape from aymeric’s fingers to pop it in his mouth, how it barely makes aymeric react, like this happens all the time. how aymeric does almost the same not a moment after and estinien  _ lets _ him.

it makes her think about how estinien had almost bitten her hand off when she'd reached for a piece of his bread during their campfire dinner at the zenith.

“good for them,” she says after a pause. “at least they like the grapes i brought?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have i said im not a writer yet? bc im not a writer, i cant write. so uhh, i hOPE U LIKED THIS MESS bye

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what im doing!! words just happened and im just sittin here letting them roam free, i hope u liked it
> 
> anyway, you can check out the estimeric week [twt](https://twitter.com/estimericweek1?s=09) to find more lovely content, or visit us at the xiv writing bookclub discord [here](https://discord.gg/YS5Setd)


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